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filmaga. 

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plat,  aalon  la  cas.  Tous  laa  autras  axampiairaa 
originaux  so  .t  filmis  an  commandant  par  la 
pramlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'impraasion  ou  d'illuatration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darniAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

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darniira  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
cas:  la  symbola  — ^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
symbola  ▼  signifia  "FIN". 

Laa  eartaa.  planchas,  tablaaux.  ate,  pauvant  itra 
fllmte  A  das  taux  da  raduction  diffarants. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  ast  trop  grand  pour  itra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clichA.  il  ast  filmi  i  partir 
da  I'angla  supAriaur  gaucha,  da  gaucha  *  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  bas.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nicassaira.  Laa  diagrammas  suivants 
illuatrant  la  mathoda. 


2 

3 

5 

6 

1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


u 

lU 

lU 


I3A 

Uo 


1.4 


2.2 


l£l 


1.8 


1.6 


MICROCOPY  RESOLUTION  TEST  CHART 

NATIONAL  BUREAU  OF  STANDARDS 

STANDARD  REFERENCE  MATERIAL  1010a 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


m--i-  -m  i«^np|piPiiiB^!ip 


W^ 


I — 

Romance  and  the 

— <y 

West 

and 

Falling  Petal; 

s 

■By 

i 

JOHN     PR  ESI 

ON 

-3 

'M: 


•ft 


Romance  and  the  West 


Falling  Petals 


u 


W 


Romance  and  the  West 


Falling  Petals 


By 
JOHN    IM<I-:STO\ 


THE   CORNHILL   COMPANY 
BOSTON 


■HHP" 


Copyright  1918 
By  The  Cornhill  Company 

AUrigh's  rtifrttd 


-/  72, 


JAN  5      ^^^ 


FAL-.ING     PETALS 

(^  MEMOIR  OF  ACADIA) 


i 


FALLING     PETALS 

(J  MEMOIR  OF  .tC.IDI.I) 

Let  scent  of  lilac  bushes 

Surcharge  the  air  around, 
While  morn,  like  maiden,  blushes 

That  in  her  face  is  found 
Such  glory;  and  my  dreaming 

Persuade  me  that  I  lie 
Where  sun  of  June  is  beaming 

From  an  Acadian  sky. 
Let  morning  mists  arise, 

As  if  from  Fundy  driven, 
Then  fail  before  my  eyes, 

Like  dreams  at  dawning  riven; 
The  odors  of  the  sea, 

Commingling  with  the  pine. 
Come  heavily  to  me, 

O'er  flower,  grass  and  vine: 
Perfumes  of  the  breath 

Of  Nature  where  she's  fairest  — 

[I] 


And  where  long  wandereth 
Dreams  of  mine  the  rarest. 

From  unrestrained  bosoms 
Of  robins  o'er  my  head, 
Half  hidden  in  the  blossoms 

Which,  fall'n,  have  carpeted 
The  grass,  comes  blithest  singing, 
A  gladness  round  me  flinging, 
And  yet  a  sadness  bringing. 
Which  will  not  be  gainsaid. 


My  hammock  slowly  swaying 

Two  apple-trees  between, 
My  vision  now  is  playing 

Upon  a  patch  of  green 
This  side  the  wooded  valley, 

And  now  upon  the  scene 
Immediately  around  me: 
A  spot  the  Fairies  found  me, 

A  weary  mood  to  rally. 

[2] 


Yet,  what  a  Fairy  bringeth 

He  hath  the  power  to  take ; 
The  sweetest  fancy  wingeth, 
And  wishes  will  forsake: 
The  robin  in  his  bower 
Sends  down  a  wilted  shower 
Of  petals,  while  he  singeth 
And  striveth  joy  to  make. 


But  not  alone  for  pleasure 

Of  this  enchantment  here 
Have  I  attained  such  leisure; 
But  that  when  she  appear. 
Whom  I  have  been  expecting, 
She  find  me  thus  neglecting 
Whatever  task  may  be. 
Since  she  is  honoring  me. 

I  wait  in  mood  uncertain. 
For  well  I  know  her  pride; 

But  presently  the  curtain 
Of  foliage  beside 

[3] 


1 


The  gate  is  gently  parted. 
And  none  too  steady-hearted 
I  rise  and  call  her  name, 
And  then  regret  the  same. 

She  halts  not  at  the  gateway. 
But  coldly  smiles,  and  straightway 
Goes  round  the  kitchen  walk; 
And  then  I  hear  the  talk 
And  laughter  of  the  hostess. 
Until  the  side-door  closes. 


The  thought  that  I  am  slighted 

Has  put  me  on  my  mettle; 
I  watch  a  falling  petal 

Until  the  same  has  lighted; 
I  say :  "  'Tis  sweeter  duty 
To  study  here  the  beauty 
Of  Nature,  in  reflection. 
Than  watch  a  maiden's  action.'' 
But  still,  at  every  sound 
1  turn  and  look  around. 

\4] 


Thus,  trying  to  forget  her. 

Because  she  passed  me  by, 
I  think  of  when  I  met  her, 

And  how  she  was  so  shy; 
I  think  of  what  she  told  me. 
Bashfully  yet  boldly. 

And    not    that    she    might    mold 
me  — 

And  how  I  wished  to  die! 
For  it  was  she  who  cured  me 

Of  an  illusion  deep, 
The  first  that  ever  lured  me. 

Or  caused  me,  shamed,  to       jp  ; 
A  blind  and  youthful  passion. 

Of  which  I  would  not  tell ; 
One  not  of  love's  persuasion. 

As  I  should  learn  from  Belle. 


I  watch  the  petals  falling 
In  merry  circles  round. 

The  while  I  am  recalling 
The  meaning  and  the  sound 

I  5] 


Of  "  Belle"  —  it  stands  for  beauty, 
And  I  surmise,  as  well, 

Implies  a  love  of  duty, 
In  love  vv^ith  which  is  Belle. 


At  last  has  she  been  driven 

Beneath  the  apple-trees, 
And,  blushing,  is  forgiven. 

My  melancholy  flees. 
Her  eyes,  a  trifle  slanting. 

As  though  of  some  lost  race. 
With  naught  of  brilliance  want- 
ing, 

Illumine  all  her  face; 

Yet  with  a  subtle  glory. 

Not  often  sung  in  story, 

A  warm  though  timid  grace. 

I  cannot  scan  each  feature 

Of  this  uncommon  creature, 

Describe  its  separate  art. 

As  though  it  stood  apart; 

[6] 


I  only  see  the  sweetness 
Of  all,  and  the  completeness 
Of  harmony  achieved  — 
For  so  was  Belle  received. 


We  speak  about  the  weather, 
And  view  the  scene  together, 
Until  she  finds  me  smiling 
At  pastime  so  beguiling. 
She  deigns  to  lay  aside 

Her  pretty  sailor  hat, 
And  I  would  pleasure  hide. 

Because  so  pleased,  at  that. 
r  take  it  as  a  sign 

That  none  of  affectation  — 
So  little.  Belle,  was  thine!  — 

Shall  mar  the  day's  relation. 

And  then  in  graceful  stride, 
For  none  was  half  so  graceful 

As  she,  do  we  divide 
The  world,  at  arms  or  peaceful ; 


We  march  upon  it  bravely  — 
Myself,  perhaps,  o'ergravely 
Denouncing  all  its  ill, 

Prescribing  for  its  woes; 

And  far  young  vision  goes, 
And  deep  young  spirits  thrill. 
O  Life,  give  back  those  hours! 
Belle,  bring  me  back  those 
powers ! 


I  follow  her,  delighted, 
My  faculties  excited : 
But  Twenty  never  knows 
How  far  such  pleasure  goes 
Beyond  the  limitation, 

The  sobering  years  will  set. 
Of  more  mature  elation 

Of  spirit.  .  .  .  Oh,  but  let 
My  vision  keep  forgetting 

The  petals  in  the  air, 
So  softly,  gently  settling 

Upon  her  golden  hair! 

[8] 


I  think,  as  Twenty  thinketh. 

That  my  companion  now, 
Jo  whom  my  being  drinkcth 

The  draught  the  gods  aUow, 
This  girl  of  wondVing  eyes, 
With  whom  I  sail  the  skies. 
Will  be  with  me  forever, 
That  Time  will  steal  her  never. 
Or,  if  our  ways  shall  part, 

(I  treat  the  matter  lightly) 
Some  other  kindred  heart. 

Some  other  form  as  sightly — 
Nay,  many  such,  mayhap. 
Will  come  to  fill  the  gap! 
Not  that  I  fail  to  see 

Unusual  things  aplenty 
In  her,  but  \  anity 

Pertains  to  foolish  Twenty. 
The  world,  the  world  is  wide, 
And  life  is  at  the  tide! 

In  looking  back  to  thee, 
At  thought  of  womankind, 

fo] 


id 


Instruction,  a  degree 

Of  mystery,  I  find 
In  this :  That  we  enjoyed 
Friendship  so  unalloyed; 
That  I  so  solemn  born 
Should  have  escaped  thy  scorn  — 
Thou  who  so  loved  a  measure 
Of  gay  and  careless  pleasure! 
But  stranger  still,  perhaps, 

That  I  should  have  been  given 

So  much,  scarce  having  striven 
For  aught.    Only  the  lapse 
Of  time,  and  intermingling 

With  others  of  thy  sex. 
Has  set  my  thoughts  to  singling 
That  young  adventure  out: 

I  see  its  bright  reflex 
When  tempted  now  to  doubt 
That  clever  women  e'er 
Are  generous ;  the  fair 
Disposed  to  rise  above 
Self-glory  and  self-love; 

[ID] 


That  such  can  ever  feel 

A  stirring  of  the  spirit, 
The  sting  of  an  ideal, 

With  courage  not  to  fear  it. 

0  Being  spirituelle, 

So  aptly  christened  Belle, 

1  cannot  now  but  wonder. 
This  fancied  shade-tree  under. 
If  thou  art  dreamer  still! 
Hath  Time  purloined  the  will 

To  paint  thine  earth  like  heaven? 
Art  thou,  perchance,  still  given 
To  fairy  castle-making? 
Or  findest  thou  an  aching 
Within  thee  at  the  thought 
Of  what  was  —  and  is  not? 
Can<^'        u,  when  memory's  call- 

And  loved  ghosts  come  round. 
See  wilted  petals  falling 
And  whitening  the  ground? 

[II] 


Yet,  sweet  as  is  thy  sadness, 
Thou  e'er  must  envy  me : 

For  mine  is  all  the  gladness, 
Since  I  remember  thee! 


But,  like  the  robin  gay, 

Rejoicing  in  his  bower, 
E'en  tiius  I  shake  away 

The  petals  from  the  flower; 
I  see  them  downward  sifting 
Among  the  jagged  leaves, 
And  as  I  watch  them  dr'fting 

My  spirit  somewhere  grieves. 
I  think  of  how  the  years, 
These  cares  and  wasted  tears, 
Are  losing  me  thy  laughter 
And  all  it  followed  after  — 
Thy  w  it  and  joy  and  smiles. 
Thy  pretty  girlish  wiles. 
So  many  a  little  token 
Of  friendship,  looked  or  spoken. 
Is  shaken  from  the  tree, 

[   12] 


Each  year,  of  memory; 
A  petal  frail  is  blown, 
And  sinks,  forever,  down! 


Still,  friend  of  old,  be  sure, 

Some  petals  e'er  shall  cling, 
Through  rain  a  d  wind  endure; 

The  robin  long  shall  sing 
High  in  his  apple-tree, 
And  thou  shalt  come  to  me, 
Ott  when  the  dull  day  closes. 
Like  scent  of  sweet  wild-rf)scs. 
Which  I  have  plucked  with  thcc; 
And  then  it  will  be  morning, 
And  life  shall  we  be  scorning, 
Our  castles  building  high 
As  thine  Acadian  skv. 


What  matter  though  we  find 
Earth-ties  to  hold  and  bind? 
'Tis  said  of  highest  Heaven : 

[13] 


To  none  the  right  is  given 
Up  there,  to  bind  the  spirit- 
And  we  lived  very  near  it. 


i 


That  day  so  bright,  so  fair. 
Is  gone,  I  know  not  where, 
No  more  than  I  can  tell 
How  thou  did'st  vanish,  Belle! 
For  years  will  e'er  be  going 
Onward,  silent  flowing 
Far,  far  beyond  our  knowing, 
Though  we  would   have  them 
stay; 
Life's  flowers  ever  blowing, 
And    blown,    their    petals    snow- 
ing— 
What  truths,  what  purpose  show- 
ing? 
Who  —  who  shall  dare  to  say? 


[I4  1 


^2 


ROMANCE  AND  THE  WEST 

(A  MONTANA  BALLAD) 


^ 


i 


ROMANCE  and  the  WEST 

{A  MONT.tNA  B.ILL.ID) 


Let  no  man  say  Romance  is  dead 

Or  e'en  that  she  is  sleeping, 
But  let  him  read  this  tale,  instead. 

And  then,  his  counsel  keeping. 
Set  forth,  as  men  must  ever  do, 

Upon  his  great  adventure. 
Regardless  of  the  bugaboo 

Of  others'  smiles  or  censure! 

'Twas  in  Montana  (this,  I  think, 
Is  how  the  poets  do  it). 

And  I  was  hard  upon  the  brink 
(And  everybody  knew  it) 

Of  bacherlorhood.  A  friend  had  I 
And  he  was  also  stranded 

Upon  that  barren  shore  where  lie 

The  hopeless,  who  have  ceased  to 

try, 


BH 


And  as  they  live  expect  to  die, 
Nor  ever  understand  it. 

We  had  an  office,  each  of  us, 

And  daily  wore  white  collars, 
Nor  was  the  problem  serious, 
With  us,  of  getting  dollars. 
We  knew  no  pinch  of  poverty, 
And  prospects  did  not 
frighten  — 
Except  the  one.    Alone  were  we! 
Though    with    each    other    con- 
stantly 
Alone  we  were!    And  hourly 
Our     heartstrings     seemed     to 
tighten. 


3 


At  first  my  friend  was  reticent 
Upon  the  awful  matter. 

And  circling  round  the  edge  we 
went 
In  superficial  chatter; 

[i8J 


i 


But  then  at  last  a  word  came  out. 

By  force  of  feeling  goaded, 
Which  put  hypocrisy  to  rout  — 

And  both  of  us  exploded. 

The  confidences  we  exchanged, 
Had  ever  they  been  printed, 
Our  patrons  might  have  well  es- 
tranged. 
For  truth  was  scarcely  stinted  ; 
We  swore  we  loved  Montana  air. 

And  everything  about  it, 
And   that   its  women   folks  were 

fair, 
That    is,    such    women    as    there 

were; 
In   short,  we  thought  them  very 
rare  — 
Yes,  very.    Who  shall  doubt  it? 

"The  only  girls    I've  met,"   said 
Sol, 

I  19  1 


(Now,  Sol  had  been  to  college) 
"Whom  I  could  ever  love  at  all, 

Within  my  certain  knowledge. 
Were  married  —  married  —  dead 
and  gone  — 

1  wonder  why — I  wonder?" 
We  dropped  our  heads  and  dwelt 

upon 
This  problem.   Suddenly  the  dawn 
Of  two  ideas,  one  by  one. 

Into  my  head  did  blunder. 


f 

■5 


"Sol,  Sol,"  said  I,  illuminate, 

"I  have  it,  boy,  I  have  it! 
You  cannot  blame  a  hostile  Fate  — 

Just  make  your  affidavit! 
The  truth  is  obviously  this : 

The  fancied  ones  you  met  there 
Received  some  other  fellow's  kiss 

Before  yourself  could  get  there! 
By  Jove,  1  think  I  see  a  fact: 

[20] 


1 


3 

3 
-J 

i 


For   since   we    both    have    met 
them. 
These  creatures  who  can  so  attract. 

Although  we  never  get  them, 
The  circumstance  that  they  exist 

Should  give  us,  I  declare  it, 
A  hope  to  find  some  one  who's 
missed  — 
And  by  young  Eros  swear  it!" 


"Yo,  ho!"  he  laughed,  "A  jolly 
joke  — 
From  you  especially  coming." 
He  grinned    behind    a   cloud    of 
smoke, 
And  sat  his  fingers  drumming. 
This  sally,  I  am  free  to  say, 
Annoyed  me  not  a  trifle ; 
But  I  would  pay  him  back  some 
day  — 
Meanwhile  annoyance  stifle. 


[21] 


The  upshot  of  my  pardner's  thrust 

Was  that  our  conversation 
For  several  days  was  dry  as  dust 

And  bored  was  our  relation. 
Then,  as  1  sat  one  night  alone. 

In  newspapers  half  buried. 
My  eyes,  my  brain  were  set  upon. 

My  heart  unduly  flurried. 
1  read  that  in  an  eastern  State 

Were  thirty  thousand  women 
Who    there    could    never    find    a 
mate  .  .  . 

1  took  it  as  an  omen. 


Forgetting,   then,  the  slight  that 
Sol 
Had  put  upon  me  lately, 
I  went  to  him  excited,  all 

Aflame,  withal  sedately. 
And   showed   him   here   in   black 
and  white 
The  thing  I  had  discovered; 

[22\ 


But  Sol  was  in  a  wretched  plight 
Of  pessimism,  out  of  sight 
Had  sunk  in  it;  and  black  as  night 
The  ravens  round  him  hovered. 

"Well,  what  of  that?''  he  croaked 
at  last. 

I  swallowed,  disconcerted. 
"Come,  Sol,"  I  said,  "forget  the 
past. 

Our  lives  have  been  diverted. 
We  cannot  sit  here,  lazy  toads. 

And  wait  for  our  bluebottle. 
Packing  round  these  heavy  loads 

That  so  our  spirits  throttle. 
If  we  are  men,  it  seems  to  me, 

We  should  resort  to  action." 
He  stared  so  idiotically 
I  trembled  for  his  sanity  -- 
But  suddenly  his  vanity 

From  silence  brought  reaction. 

[23  1 


"If  such  a  thing  you  contemplate, 

My  boy,"  he  uttered  coldly, 
"As  finding  me  a  diflf'rent  state 

By  venturing  so  boldly 
Upon  a  chase  of  goslings  wild 

In  far-of¥  Massachusetts, 
Reflect  that  I  am  not  a  child. 

Your  fiction's  like  de  Musset's! 
Why,    think    of    how    the    town 
would  laugh 

If  you  and  I  went  wiving? 
Besides,  the  chances  are,  by  half. 

The  crazy  trip  surviving. 
We'd   come   back   less   contented 

than 
The  chase  of  visions  we  began." 


"Knight    errant!"    I    exclaimed. 
"Brave  knight! 
What  matter  that  the  maiden's 
part 
Compels  her,  till  her  hair  is  white, 

[24] 


To    wait,    with    dully    paining 
heart? 
What  matter  that  she  cannot  speak 

Because  the  men  have  spoken, 
Nor  go  like  them  a  mate  to  seek  — 

Until  her  youth  is  broken!" 

"I  will  admit  you  argue  well," 

Quoth  Sol,  with  some  contri- 
tion, 
"But  all  one's  faculties  rebel 

At  thought  of  such  a  mission. 
It  seems  to  me  that  we  must  wait, 

No  matter  how  we  feel ; 
And   some   day,    maybe,   soon   or 
late, 

Will  come  the  one  ideal." 

I  laughed  —  I  laughed  until  I 
cried, 
For  surely  Sol  was  funny. 
"Yes,    doubtless,    when    we    both 
have  died  — 

[25] 


Sol,  have  you  any  money 
To  wager  that,  in  seven  years, 

In  view  of  our  location, 
A  single  eligible  appears  — 

Say,  comes  here  on  vacation? 
Computing  chanccb  that  will  be 

By  those  we  know  were  bootless 
These  seven  years  past  —  come, 
wager  me 

Your  hope  will   not   be   fruit- 
less?" 

He   parried,   and   he  smiled   and 
sighed, 
And  his  position  shifted. 
And  "How  could  such  a  thing  be 
tried, 
By  one  with  reason  gifted? 
For,  looking  at  the  brightest  side, 
And  granting  Fate's  assistance. 
How    many    futile    days    might 
glide, 

[26] 


tfi 


yt^^nrvKumtm  , 


With  Her  still  in  the  distance? 
What  town  —  what  city  —  how 

and  where  — 
The    business    here— the    people 

there  — " 

"Look  here,"  said  I,  "is  not  a  wife. 

The  kind  that  we  are  seeking, 
The  most  important  thing  in  life?" 

(He  looked  a  trifle  sneaking.) 
"Sol,  I  propose  to  spend  a  year, 

And  all  I  have  if  need  be; 
And  if  I  fail  —  the  ranchers  here 

Won't  ever  have  to  feed  me. 
But  never  fear:  the  price  I  set 

Upon  my  blessed  being 
Is  doubtless  quite  sufficient;  yet 

An  equal  I  am  seeing 
In  more  than  one  lost  little  girl 

Whose   vision   comes    to   haunt 
me  — 
Some  atom  in  the  city's  swirl, 

\27] 


In  need  enough  to  want  me! 
This  thing  of  fancying,  old  boy, 

That  one  and  one  girl  only 
Can  bring  the  common  share  of 

joy 

To  stray  old  stags,  as  lonely 
As  we  —  or  any  other  man, 

Shows  ignorance  of  earth. 
Of  woman,  since  the  world  began, 

Of  such  superior  worth '/' 


Sol  turned  an  eagle  eye  on  me: 
"Then  marriage  is  a  farce! 

You  kill  its  ideality 
And  make  a  human  scarce 

Less  guided  in  his  choice  of  love 

Than     cattle    that    the     prairies 


rove 


»> 


"You    almost    spoke    a    truth,    I 
swear," 
I  tantalized  old  Sol, 

f  28  I 


"For  if  wc  turn  to  Nature,  there 

We  find  a  law  for  all. 
And  who  are  you  and  who  am  I 

That  we  should  be  neglecting 
The  inner  pang,  the  unhushed  cry 

A  mate  to  be  selecting? 
And   what   is   there,   in    heaven's 
name, 

Of  this  selfsame  selection, 
In  sitting  down,  in  pride  and 
shame 

And  impotent  dejection?" 

At  that  we  parted;  later,  when 

I  started  on  my  journey. 
He  came,  in  better  spirits  then. 

To  say,  as  my  attorney, 
That  if  I  needed  his  advice 

Upon  my  quest  fantastic, 
Or  found  I  could  not  pay  the  price 

Of  Someone's  whims  elastic, 
He  hoped  that  I  would  not  forget 
He  loved  me  like  a  brother  yet! 
[29] 


ROMANCE  and  the  WEST 

(./   MnxT.lX.l  B  ILL  ID) 
PART   I! 

I  never  shall  forget  that  day 

Upon  the  Boston  Common, 
The  beauty,  as  Bostonians  say, 

All   TOLind  about  me  "swawm- 
\n  . 
I  stood  like  some  one  in  a  trance. 

Amid  the  merry  whirl. 
Imploring     Guardian     Circum- 
stance 

To  point  me  out  the  girl. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  any  one 

Of  all  the  Unescorted 
Would    most    emphatically    have 
done, 

However  loosely  sorted. 
I  wondered  how  I  ever  lived 

So  long  on  plains  of  sand 

I  :.3  ] 


Where  bachelors  so  seldom  wived, 
Since  wives  were  not  at  hand. 


I  thought  about  my  pardner,  too, 

Inclined  to  telegraph; 
But,  knowing  well  what  he  would 
do, 

Recalling,  too,  his  laugh. 
Decided  not  to  even  write, 
But  leave  him  to  his  foolish  fight. 
Perhaps  when  I  should  victor  be, 

And  that  would  not  be  long, 
He  might  receive  a  word  from  me, 

In  accent  clear  and  strong, 
Descriptive  of  celibacy: 

But  meanwhile,  life  —  the 
throng! 
My  first  impression  lasted  through 

An  active  week,  or  more; 
The   buildings   and  the  streets   I 
knew; 

And  many  a  marble  door, 

[34] 


Or  corner,  knew  my  figure  well, 
For  there  I  loved  to  stand 

And  watch  the  crowds  of  people 
swell 
Like  waves  upon  the  sand. 

Oh,  many  a  face  that  pa;  ed  me  by 

Did  yet  in  passing  cast 
A  curious  glance  that  brought  a 
sigh 

And  made  my  heart  go  fast; 
For   some   were    queerly    sad,    I 
thought, 

As  if  they  wished  to  find 
A  friend  above  the  common  lot. 

More  constant  or  more  kind; 
As  if  they  knew  the  world  too  well 

To  quite  believe  in  men. 
They  came,  they  glanced,  and  in 
the  swell 

Of  life  were  lost  again. 

[35l 


-7i  >ss5  ■?■*;-  iSSr'»*r'-*M» 


The  weeks  moved  on,  as  did  the 
throng, 

And  1  began  to  see 
That  something  had  gone 
strangely  wrong 

Within  the  heart  of  me. 
For  I  could  now  no  longer  yearn 

To  care  for  one  alone. 
So  many  seemed  to  me  to  turn 

For  help!    And,  too,  w^as  gone 
Concern  about  myself;  indeed 

It  seemed  a  selfish  thing, 
Amid  this  universal  need, 

This  silent  suffering. 


At  times,  in  thinking  now  of  lives 

Outside  my  petty  own, 
And  how  a  human  custom  drives 

Man's  soul  to  folly  dow.., 
I  wondered  why  these  women  here 

Submitted  to  their  lot. 
With  silent  sigh,  suppressed  tear, 

[36] 


When  what  their  beings  souglit 
Existed  in  a  world  far  less 

Extensive  than  we  think, 
Where  there  are  wells  of  iiappi- 
ncss 

Whereof  we  all  may  drink. 
Or  most  of  us,  if  but  we  dare 

To  let  not  vanity, 
The  serf  of  custom,  tell  us  where 

To  go,  and  what  to  be! 

Yet,  might  they  not  be  slaves  of 
Gold, 

The  thought  occurred  to  me, 
As  well  as  custom;  growing  old 

That  ')thers  might  be  free 
To  revel  in  the  joys  of  youth  — 
Devoid  of  justice  as  of  ruth? 
Perhaps  it  was  the  memory 

Of  freedom  of  the  prairie 
That  brought  the  bondage  home 
to  me 

(3/  I 


Of  this  life  sedentary, 
This  life  of  waiting,  hidden  from 

The  very  thing  desired  — 
Expecting,  praying  it  will  come, 

Until  at  last  too  tired. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  must  try 

My  hand  at  the  invention 
Of  some  new  system ;  nay,  defy 

The  world  and  its  convention ; 
That  I  must  bring  the  prairies  east 

And  take  the  cities  west ; 
And  make  man  happy  as  the  beast, 

And  women  quite  as  blest. 

But  when    I    walked    the   streets 
again, 
Among  the  busy  masses, 
Among    those    mighty,    heartless 
men, 
And  pretty,  helpless  lasses, 


[38] 


I  knew  the  world  would  laugh  at 

me, 

And  cheat  me,  being  stronger; 
And  so,  discouraged,  presently 

I  thought  of  lives  no  longer, 
But  only  of  my  little  scheme, 

Of  how  I  mjght  be  finding 
The  creature  of  my  former  dream, 

In  streets  so  wide  and  winding. 

Accordingly  I  laid  a  plan. 

And  marshalled  all  my  forces, 
As  well  becometh  any  man 

Who  hand  of  Fate  coerces. 
I'd  make  a  tour  of  every  store 

Of  size,  and  there  were  many  — 
But  Fate  threw  something  in  my 
eyes, 

And  tossed  a  magic  penny  1 


I  saw  Her  run  to  catch  a  car. 
But  stumble  on  the  curbing; 

[39] 


And  I  was  not  so  very  far 

Away,  oh,  thoui^ht  perturbing;! 
But  that  I  managed  to  assist 

A  suitcase  in  preventing 
Collision     with     the     thing     she 
missed  — 

A  block  of  sound  cementing. 
She   thanked    me    hurriedly,    her 
eyes 

Into  my  spirit  burning, 
But  ere  my  brain  could  realize 

That  here  the  point  of  turning 
In  all  my  life  had  come  at  length, 

Another  car  had  taken 
'i'his  girl,  my  heart,  my  thoughts, 
my  strength  — 

And  I  stood  there,  forsaken! 

What  matter  that  the  city  raged 
About  me  in  its  passion, 

That  every  minute  here  was  staged 
A  drama,  olu  of  fashion 


[40] 


As  life  itself ;  that  here  were  hearts 

As  painful  in  their  beatitig, 
As  full  of  a^^onies  ami  smarts 

As  mine,  their  paiii;s  repeatini;? 
1  saw  no  face  upon  the  street, 

I  heard  no  city  clamor: 
llpon  my  palms  I  saw  the  sweat, 

WithMi   !   i.eard  a  hammer. 

So   went  the   days,   and   then   the 
weeks  — 
A  suitcase — a  vacation. 
A  lover  to  his  shadow  speaks: 

"By  her  pronunciation, 
I  know  she  was  a  Boston  girl." 
And  then  would  come  the  llout- 
ing 
Of  fears;  and  hopes;  the  madden- 
ing swirl 
Of  wishes;  and  the  doubting. 

My  appetite  forsook  me  quite, 
I  lost  in  weight  and  color, 

[41I 


'ffw^^^asfr^- 


I  hated  day  and  dreaded  night. 

And  life  became  a  dolor. 
Then  when  the  watching  palled  on 

me, 

The  waiting  and  the  hoping, 
I  took  a  cottage  by  the  sea, 

And  sat  there,  lifeless,  moping. 
But    this    was    even    worse,    me- 
thought, 

Than  scanning  passing  faces, 
And  so  I  left  my  lonely  cot 

And  sought  familiar  places; 
The  corners  and  the  office  doors 

And  parks  again  frequented. 
Like  some  lost  spirit  on  the  moors 

Of  life,  outcast,  demented. 

One   day,  when,  as  it  seemed  to 
me, 

I  could  not  thus  forever 
Go  on,  I  wept  —  wept  bitterly. 

My  mind  upon  the  river. 

[42] 


But  this  was  well;  it  made  me 
pause, 

And  not  a  little  shamed  me: 
Should  I  give  up  the  fight  because 

Old  Fate  had  somewhat  lamed 

me? 
No,  let  me  wait,  and  fight,  and 

wait, 
Remain  and  find  vocation, 
That  if  she  come,  however  late, 
She  find  me  at  my  station! 

Along  the  streets,  encased  in  ice. 
The  wind  swept  wet  and  shiv- 
ery; 
I  turned  into  the  Post  Office 
And  passed  by  "General   De- 
livery." 
I  had  a  letter  in  my  hand 

To  Sol,  the  first  since  summer, 
Requesting  him  to  sell  my  land 
And  books  to  some  newcomer. 

[43l 


■!■■ 


But  now  I  halted ;  might  not  he 

Have  answered  that  first  letter? 
The  mail-clerk  grinned  on  hand- 
ing me 

A  wire.    "This  is  better." 
And  when  I  saw  it  was  not  old 

I  felt  a  child's  contrition: 
Perhaps  the  tales  of  fairies  told 

Were  not  all  superstition! 


js- 


"Come  home  at  once,     t 
sage  ran, 
"If  you  should  get  this  wire; 

I  want  you,  Billy,  for  best  man- 
Have  found  my  One  Desire." 


1  laughed— but  not  from  any  joy ; 

I  hiughed  instead  of  weeping. 
"Will  try  to  get  there,   Sol,  old 
boy," 

I  wired,  my  courage  keeping. 

[44l 


;SW9»»  «• 


Twere  better;  I  had  thus  excuse 
To  straighten  my  affairs; 

And  having  tully  gotten  loose 
Would     come    back— to    gray 
hairs! 

And  now  my  pen  unsteady  falls 
Upon  the  guileless  sheet, 

And  life  alarms,  and  love  appalls; 
But  yet  the  task  is  sweet. 

He  met  me  at  the  depot,  he 
Who  once  had  looked  so  glum, 

His  face  a  happy  mystery. 

"I  knew  —  I  knew  you'd  come!" 

Perhaps     he     saw     that     I     had 
changed. 
In  fact,  I  know  he  saw; 
But  naught  was  dear  old  Sol  es- 
tranged — 
As  stable  he  as  Law. 

I  45] 


I  felt  his  hand  upon  my  back. 

His  blue  eyes  holding  mine: 
"Let's  wander  down  the  railway 
track, 

For  appetite  to  dine." 

We    walked    along,    as    we    had 
strolled 

So  often  there  together, 
And  I  was  full  of  thoughts  of  old, 

In  this  Montana  weather. 

Then    suddenly    he    pressed    my 
arm, 
And  bruised  it  in  the  process; 
"Billy,"  said  he,  "a  new  school- 
marm 
Did  come  to  Stolen  Hosses, 
And   when    I   went,   on   business 
bent, 
Of  course  I  had  to  meet  her; 

[46] 


And  by  this  old  prairie  scent 

There  lives  no  woman 
sweeter!  .  .  . 
And  so  for  me.  But  now  for  you— 

You  ought  to  see"  —  He  halted. 
"Oh,  pawdon,  Bill ;  I  see,  I  do, 

Old  Boston  has  you  salted!" 

He  spoke  of  business  matters  then, 
And  snow  and  wheat  and 
clover ; 

But  I  was  busy  wondering  when 
The  wedding  would  be  over. 

The   steps  with   which    I    turned 
with  him 
Toward  a  bungalow, 
Where    lights    were    bright    and 
hearth  was  dim, 
A  deep  and  welcome  glow, 
Was  weary  as  the  step  I  took 
Back  from  a  vanished  car 

[47] 


That  morning  of  the  steady  look 
From  eyes  that  went  so  far. 

He  left  me  seated  by  the  hearth, 

The  embers  to  explore, 
And    I    was    rambling    o'er    the 
earth, 
And  eastern  cities  o'er, 
When  someone  passed  behind  my 

chair; 
1  felt  her  presence  in  the  air; 
Before  I  turned  I  knew  that  there 

Was  She,  the  one,  the  One! 
"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  began — 
And    then  —  "Why,    you  —  why 

you're  the  man  — 
The  day  I  left  to  visit  Nan  — " 

Sol  entered,  on  the  run. 
"Say,  Helen,  where's  your  sister 
gone?  — 

[48] 


■. 


BB 


Oh,    by    the    way,    meet     Billy 

Vaughn  — 
Down    town? — I'll    sec    you    two 


?) 


anon  — 
With  which  the  tale  is  done. 


[49l 


